


Consequences

by oper_1895



Series: Sex is just a word (Asexual!Neal) [14]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Asexual Character, D/s, M/M, Multi, Painplay, Punishment, clothespins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oper_1895/pseuds/oper_1895
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Here’s something for you to think about: If you’ll listen to me when I tell you to hurt, why won’t you listen to me when I try to keep you safe?”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be in response to the Anon prompt of: "something in the Asexual!Neal verse, preferably Peter taking neal down after a hard case or something and neal staying down for a while."  
> I'm not sure if I actually achieved it, Peter derailed things, but I hope it's still enjoyable!

“I’m not asking for much, Neal.” Peter stalked into the living room, hands on his hips, all angles and tension. Neal followed cautiously. “All I want is to not have to see you get killed. That’s it. Call me controlling, or irrational, or whatever. _I don’t want you dead_.”

Neal blinked at Peter’s outburst, drifting to a halt in the middle of the living room. That wasn’t at all what he expected when Peter dragged him home early. He’d expected exasperation, annoyance, but not this … hurt, fear. This wasn’t something he’d seen before in Peter.

“I’m sorry,” he tried. It was the truth, but the apology seemed insignificant in the face of Peter’s revelation.

“I just-” Peter sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I need you safe. You became part of this family and this is one of the consequences of that.”

“You know I’m not good with consequences.” Neal tried, smiling weakly.

“I know.“ Peter slumped onto the couch. “Come here.”

Neal hesitated a moment, debating which path to take. They probably should talk this out, but he _felt_ too much for words. So Neal knelt on the floor at Peter‘s feet and leaned his head into Peter’s thigh. Peter petted him absently and Neal could feel him start to relax. Here, at least, Peter could control the situation, and Neal didn’t have to worry.

“You don’t have to do this,” Peter said cautiously, his fingers ghosting across Neal’s face.

“I know. But I want it.” Neal smiled, feeling like he was on slightly more solid ground. “What about you? Are you up for it? It’s a lot of worrying about me.”

“No.” Peter fisted his hand in Neal’s hair, pulling slightly. “I won’t have to worry about you at all.”

“Yes, sir.” Neal’s breath caught as he nodded.

“Get undressed, then get me the clothespins.”

Neal stripped efficiently then jogged upstairs to get the bag of clothespins from their toy box. When he got back, he found that Peter had placed one of the large cushions on the floor by the couch. Neal knew what that meant. He knelt, lacing his hands behind his head.

“I’m going to put every single one of these on you.” Peter said as he dumped out the bag. Neal let his breath out slowly. This was going to hurt.

Neal didn’t really like the clothespins; they felt off. The pain was wrong, too much to ignore but not enough to push him over the edge. But as he knelt there and watched Peter’s careful, methodical work, he saw the strained lines on Peter’s face start to relax.

Peter started with a line of clothespins along the soft underside of each arm. The clothespins tugged and pulled as Peter continued across his chest and belly, paying particular attention to his nipples. Neal’s skin felt tight as Peter created ridges of pinched skin down his sides, along his ribs, and on his inner thighs.

By the end, Neal’s body was covered with lines of shivering clothespins. Peter twisted the pins on his nipples, then brushed the row down Neal’s side, setting them waving. Neal moaned, panting around the three pins Peter had put on his tongue. There were another two on each ear because he’d hesitated a beat when Peter had asked for his tongue. He was drooling slightly now, and he didn’t usually like that either. But he could feel the heavy haze sneaking up on him and he knew it was _because_ he didn‘t like this.

He was doing this for Peter.

There was no other reason, no ulterior motives he had to consider. Peter wanted this, so Neal gave. It was as simple as that. He accepted the pain, the tight tugs all over his body, how they pulled and clattered as he moved.

“Now, don’t make a sound.”

Neal nodded, feeling trepidation kindle in his stomach. He’d been so focused on being good for Peter that he’d missed exactly what Peter was doing. Peter had set up zippers, lines of clothespins strung together so that they could be yanked off Neal’s body in one sharp snapping movement.

“Good boy.” Then Peter yanked.

Neal let his breath out harshly as pins were pulled off first his left, then right underarm. Before he had a chance to recover, the lines on his thighs were ripped off. But then Peter waited, teasing the top of the zippers running down his sides. Neal laced his fingers together more firmly, and Peter pulled.

Panting slightly, Neal let the bright pain wash through him as Peter yanked off the last strings and stood back. Neal was breathing heavily, trying to keep silent with the added challenge of being unable to close his mouth.

Neal’s body was humming with pain. Peter removed the clips on his ears, but there were still a few singles left scattered over Neal’s body.

Peter looked significantly at the floor. “Lie down. Face down.”

Neal complied, wincing slightly as the pins twisted and pulled and dug in under the weight of his body.

“Does it hurt?” Peter’s voice was inexorable.

Neal nodded.

“Tell me.” Peter pressed.

“Yesh.” Neal slurred around the restriction on his tongue.

“Make it hurt more.”

Neal only hesitated a moment before he shimmied against the rug, grinding in harder. He felt the twist and the bite and the pained rush of blood as some of the pins snapped off.

“Now roll over.” Neal complied. Angry marks stood out across his chest and one nipple clip had slipped agonizingly so it was just barely catching the tip. Peter removed that one first, then moved onto the others. Neal sighed as the last one was released and the sting was replaced with the warmth of Peter’s hands. Peter sat back, leaving one hand on Neal’s chest, over his heart.

“Here’s something for you to think about.“ Peter said, softly now. “If you’ll listen to me when I tell you to hurt, why won’t you listen to me when I try to keep you safe?”

\--

Neal’s eyes went wide, face slack and open and wrecked, and Peter felt a little bit guilty for doing that to him. But only a little, because he also remembered the terror he had felt when he realized Neal wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

“I know, I know, I ask all the hard questions. That’s why I’m the FBI agent.” Peter traced the shell of Neal’s ears to ease the lingering sting of the clips. “You don’t have to answer me. If you have something to say, I’ll listen, but I just want you to think about that. Can you do that?”

Neal nodded under Peter’s hand, relaxing slightly. Peter examined him carefully, trying to judge where they should go next. Peter had initially thought he’d put Neal to work, remind Neal of what he had here by making him be part of the process of making a home. But Neal wasn't going to be up for that now.

“You did good, Neal. Do you want my cuffs now?”

Neal nodded again, hopeful and grateful. Peter ruffled Neal’s hair and stood up. Of all the things they had bought and tried, Neal still turned to Peter’s cuffs as a comfort.

“Go lie down in front of the couch,” Peter watched as Neal rolled to his hands and knees and crawled carefully to the couch, then he stepped away to grab his cuffs.

When Peter came back, Neal was face down, in position. Peter nudged Neal’s legs open just that much wider, just a reminder of who was in charge, then cuffed Neal’s hands behind his head. He set the glass of water at the side table and sat, resting one foot on Neal’s shoulders, the other at the base of his spine. Peter would feel it if Neal tried to move at all, and Neal would have the reassurance of Peter’s claim over him. Making himself comfortable, Peter turned on the TV and waited for Elizabeth to come home.

Neal inched his fingers closer to Peter’s foot, stopping just as they brushed Peter’s ankle. Peter smiled and let Neal hold on.

\--

Later that night, after everyone was tucked into bed, Peter felt Neal squirm around from where he’d been curled against Elizabeth to lie on Peter’s shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Neal’s voice was soft in the dark.

“I know.” Peter said sleepily.

“I’ll do better.”

“I know that too.”

“Thank you.” Neal spoke, after a long enough pause that Peter thought he had finally fallen asleep.

“You’re welcome.” Peter drifted back to sleep as Neal snuggled closer and sighed contentedly


End file.
